


Oisín

by Autor_Moriarty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Developing Relationship, Fawnlock, Fluff, Homophobic Language, Kidlock, Later Smut, M/M, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-01-27 00:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1708049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autor_Moriarty/pseuds/Autor_Moriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After moving from Ireland, young Jim Moriarty and his family settle into a cottage in the English countryside. Jim suspects there's more to the woods behind their new home than the outside lets on, but he keeps quiet, resolving never to go in. When his twin brother gets lost inside, however, Jim is forced to follow and discovers someone just like him, even if he's a little different and not quite human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oisín: 1

Jim was seven when his family moved to the English countryside. It was breathtaking and charming, but it wasn’t the place where Jim had lived all of his life and so he was instantly suspicious. When their car pulled up outside the quaint cottage for the first time, Jim peeked out of the window with wide brown eyes too intelligent for his age and studied the encroaching woods as his parents got out and began to unpack the trunk. His twin brother cuddled into his side and slept off the excitement of their long drive, unaware of Jim’s unease. The woods looked dark and hungry, like they held secrets that even he couldn’t work out or control if he did.

His father’s knuckles pounding right against the glass in front of his face startled him from his thoughts and he sat up straight, heart pounding as he listened to his muffled orders to help move boxes in. Jim waited for the man to head up the stone walkway before he made a move in case something he did provoked his father’s formidable temper. He gently shook Jamie awake and climbed out of the car onto the gravel road, wrinkling his nose at the crunch under his trainers. He missed the city.

Jim carried boxes into the dusty, drafty house all afternoon with Jamie lingering by his side like he expected there to be ghosts. He believed in lots of silly things but Jim made a point of never laughing at Jamie for them. He was a sweet boy and Jim knew what it was like to be bullied. They’d both been through too much together for Jim to ever mock Jamie’s fears. Jim had fears too, ones he thought were more rational but still paralyzing the same.

Jim feared the unknown. Things he knew nothing about and couldn’t predict were dangerous and could hurt him. Most of his fears centered on this same theme. Death scared him because he didn’t know what it would mean for him. The woods scared him because anything could lay inside, waiting to swallow him whole. But most of all his father scared him, since anything could set him off, which is why Jim got himself and his brother up every morning when the summer sun was just starting to burn off the morning fog and headed outside to play in the garden.

A dilapidated white picket fence surrounded the small grassy area, tilting like it was about ready to collapse from fatigue, but neither Jim nor Jamie ventured beyond, Jim because of the woods, and Jamie because he adored Jim so much and wanted to be around constantly him. They played with their second hand toys in hushed whispers so they didn’t draw any attention or Jim would read to Jamie from their book of fairytales until the sun went down and they were forced back inside by Jamie’s fear of the dark and their neglected stomachs grumbling. It was better to be hungry than be around their father.

In the night, Jim and Jamie would crawl into their shared bed and cuddle up, taking comfort in each other when the sounds of their mother crying became audible through the thin walls, punctuated by the sound of blows. Jim fantasized that one day he might be strong enough to go into the other room and tell their father to stop, but for the time being he reserved himself to hiding under the covers with Jamie and taking whatever abuse meant for his brother himself. He might not be able to protect everyone, but Jamie was his responsibility.

One thing Jamie valued above spending every waking moment with his brother was rabbits. It was why Jim’s nickname for him was bunny, because the softer twin had always insisted on dragging Jim to the pet shop at the end of their street and beaming at the little creatures in their cages, wiggling his nose at them like they might somehow understand him. He was obsessed with them.

Jim once pooled together all his money to buy Jamie one of the animals and he cuddled it all the way back home and made Jim feel proud of himself for doing a good thing, until the older kids that liked to torment them took it away and set it free. Jamie cried for days and Jim had to cover his mouth when his sniffling got too loud in case someone overheard. Their house had always been a quiet place.

So when Jamie caught sight of the baby bunny with its stubby ears and wiggling nose just beyond the broken down fence, it was impossible for him to stay put. Within moments, before Jim even realized what was happening, Jamie was off running out the gate and after the animal, laughing louder than either of them had dared for days. Jim stared after him in horror as the rabbit darted off into the woods and his brother disappeared after it, too stunned to leap into action. Jamie's giggles faded and all that remained was a chorus of buzzing cicadas and the lazy heat of the summer sun.

Jim set his astronomy book aside and stood on shaky legs, stumbling to the fence and staring into the dense trees in the hopes that Jamie might emerge on his own. Sweat collected on the back of his neck and knees and Jim hazarded a soft call, throat dry as sand.

"Jamie?" He glanced back toward the house and felt about to bolt but he held himself still. Jamie needed to be with him if he went inside, the boy was too naïve to take care of himself out there. Jim tried to call out to him again and jumped when he heard a crash from back in the house, taking off without another thought into the woods. The unknown was better than a very real beating.

The woods were cool and more light filtered in than the outside betrayed, the occasional beam breaking through the canopy and lighting up small green bubbles of space. Jim hurried along at a steady pace, climbing over fallen trees and crunching foliage beneath his trainers, voice soft as he called out for Jamie. He knew adders lived in these parts and that bites could be painful, so he tried to watch his step as much as he could. Even with the danger, Jim couldn't help but admire the scenery. Birds perched in the trees and squirrels scampered from underfoot. It was far wilder than any place Jim had ever ventured before, coming from Dublin and having only ever been to parks before.

He heard a snap up ahead through some bushes, possibly a branch breaking in the clearing beyond, and Jim prayed it was Jamie as he surged forward and out into the meadow, fists up for ready defense.

Empty. Beautiful and almost perfectly round, sun breaking through from above, but empty. Jim kicked halfheartedly at the grass and looked around, hoping to catch sight of a newly blazed trail but none presented itself. Jamie couldn't have gone far, how could he have just disappeared? How could he have been so reckless? Jim crossed over to sit under a tree, legs splaying out and head back against the rough bark as he breathed steadily to calm down. Getting mad wouldn't help.

As Jim calmed down and got his bearings, he became aware of the snapping of branches again and he sat bolt upright, looking around in fear. What could it be? What else lived in these woods? Jim wished he had done more research on the dangerous wildlife, all he knew about were the rabbits, squirrels, birds, deer and snakes, but what if there was something worse out there that could kill him? What if that something had already killed Jamie and was searching for more prey with the same scent?

Jim rifled through his pockets, keeping his eyes up for any sign of danger, and when they turned up empty he snatched up a heavy rock and rose, crouching as he made his way to the center of the clearing. The snapping came again and Jim spun to face the tree he'd just been under, mounting horror rising in his chest as the branches above his resting place rustled. What if he'd remained there? What if the thing had dropped down on him, what if it still could? Jim backed away and clutched his rock tighter, heart racing a mile a minute. Whatever it was, he'd be ready to strike it if it appeared.

Suddenly there was a loud crash and Jim nearly screamed when a figure tumbled from the tree, landing solidly on the grass with a cry. It was... not human, there were too many extra shapes for that, but it clearly wasn't just an animal either, not with that pale, hairless torso.

Jim cowered as it pushed itself up to sit, legs bending oddly and head tilting up to look at him with glittering blue eyes. An arrow of cold fear shot through him at the eyes, human shaped but ethereal in color, and the shapes on top of its head, like...

Antlers? That couldn't be right. It was a... faun? Or a satyr? But… they weren’t real. Jim’s heart pounded as he studied the watchful eyes and realized he was about to do something that could quite possibly get him killed.

Jim very carefully bent to set the rock down, keeping eye contact in case it moved toward him or tried to run off. It was beautiful, bare skin milky and soft, with those majestic antlers arching from either side of his head, and it's lower half... light brown deer legs, curled up under it in preparation for flight, and between them, a penile sheath. Male then. Jim broke into a slow smile and moved back a few steps before sitting down, hoping the creature would come to him if he presented himself as nonthreatening. Jim offered his hand, suspecting that if he lived in the woods, he probably would want to smell him first to make sure he was safe.

The faun crept forward out of the shade, head tilting in childlike fascination and long auburn curls bouncing delicately, and Jim looked his youthful face over, smile widening, "You're very handsome. What's your name?"

He stopped, eyes swiveling back to Jim and flickering over him like they were taking him apart. Jim felt breathless under the intelligent scrutiny, amazement rushing through him at the realization that he'd been right, that this wonderful creature was smarter than just any ordinary animal.

"Sherlock." His voice was rich and deep, like chocolate or coffee, and so incredibly perfect despite the hint of confusion.

"It's very nice to meet you, Sherlock." Jim smiled, nodding at his hand, "Would you like to smell me? To make sure I'm safe? I promise I won't hurt you."

"Your name." Sherlock said firmly, crouching in place to let Jim know he wasn't moving closer anytime soon. His short but fluffy tail flicked and Jim was reminded of a bunny, then his brother. Oh god, he had to find Jamie.

"It's James, but I go by Jim. You can call me whatever you'd like though. And I have a brother, he looks just like me. His name is Jamie and he ran out here and I'm trying to find him. Have you seen him?" Jim said in a rush, holding his breath as Sherlock's eyes flicked over him again.

"You're strange." Sherlock said decisively.

"I'm sorry, what?" Jim asked, blinking a little. Being called strange by a faun, that was a first.

"Talking to me. It's strange. Most people don't talk to me." Sherlock said before shaking his head, scattering light across the meadow from a monocle on the end of a gold chain that was looped around his right antler, "I haven't seen anyone but you."

Jim's face fell and he nodded, looking around, "Do you think that you could smell for him?"

"I haven't smelled you, how will I know the difference?" Sherlock huffed haughtily, shuffling closer with barely contained excitement.

"I think you’re just looking for an excuse to get close.” Jim teased but he nodded, waving Sherlock over, “So, what are you called?”

Jim squeaked when Sherlock sprang forward without warning and tackled him to the grass, before starting to giggle when it became clear he wasn’t being aggressive, just sniffing all over his face and hair enthusiastically.

“Told you, I’m called Sherlock.” He sounded incredibly bored with the line of questioning, deep voice drawling, and much more interested in nuzzling under Jim’s chin and darting out his tongue to taste his skin.

“I meant what kind of animal? Are there others? Do you have a family?” Jim asked, squirming under Sherlock and wrinkling his nose at the behavior. He’d have at least liked to have been asked for permission first.

Sherlock scoffed, pinning Jim better and sniffing down his arms, “My family is boring. I want to hear about yours. You have a brother, but no other siblings. And parents. You live in the house. Tell me what it’s like to live in a house.”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me where you live.” Jim offered.

“Bartering, stupid.” Sherlock growled, leaning back to look at Jim but keeping a tight hold on his wrists, “I live here. In the woods.”

“But when you sleep? Or in the winter? Where do you go?” Jim insisted.

“Tall grass. When it gets cold, under trees. And where is none of your business. Tell me about your house.” Sherlock said in a stern voice and Jim flinched just a bit, enough for Sherlock to pick up on. He faltered, but wasn’t sure what to say. Jim spoke before he had the chance to ask what had upset him.

“It’s warm. And dry when it rains. But I miss our old house, this one is far away from there.” Jim said solemnly.

“Then go back.” Sherlock said bluntly.

“I can’t go without my family. I’m not allowed.” Jim explained.

“Humans are stupid.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jim sighed as he became lost in thought, eyes widening when Sherlock began to paw unceremoniously at his shirt.

“Off. I want to see.”

“Jamie first.” Jim said and pushed Sherlock back gently, “I need to find him. Please.”

Sherlock weighed the choices a moment before agreeing with a curt nod and sitting back on his haunches so Jim could stand up, “I want to see still.”

“I know, I’ll…” Jim bit his lip, “I’ll let you see. But I’d like to look at you as well. You’re extraordinary.”

Sherlock snorted like he didn’t care but he seemed flattered, preening like a girl complimented on her looks as he rose to his full height, just a bit taller than Jim, and sniffed around the clearing, surprisingly graceful as he moved.

Jim watched him in amazement, taking in the faint white spots across Sherlock’s light brown tail and hindquarters and the darker brown, freckle-like markings across his shoulders. His face was beautiful, almost fae with the glittering blue eyes and his pale complexion. The antlers were shorter than Jim had expected and Jim would have thought the dangling chain was an accident had Sherlock not grabbed the monocle and held it to his eye to examine a tree trunk. Used as a magnifying glass perhaps?

After a moment, Sherlock turned to Jim and nodded before bounding off into the woods, not waiting for Jim to catch up. The boy took off and ran after Sherlock, following his flicking tail and glittering chain.

Sherlock followed his own path, cutting around tangles of dense bushes without a second thought and leading Jim through a labyrinth of trees he knew he had no hope of escaping on his own. At times, Sherlock slowed enough for Jim to keep up beside him as he ran, others he stopped completely or walked, head swiveling for clues only he seemed to be able to see.

"What do most people do then?" Jim asked during one of the times they walked, Sherlock bouncing along beside him and casting sharp looks at his shoes.

"Walk around, looking stupid." Sherlock shrugged, "They wear things that look stupid. People are stupid."

Jim giggled softly, nodding in agreement, "I know how that feels. But I meant when they see you. You said most people don't talk to you. What do they do?"

"Scream." Sherlock looked a little bothered by it but seemed to shrug it off, frowning at Jim, "Why did you talk?"

"Because I thought you might have something interesting to say." Jim said casually and Sherlock narrowed his eyes a moment in thought before racing ahead again, hot in pursuit. Jim felt new hope flair in his chest and he followed on Sherlock’s heels, panting in the humid air.

It wasn’t long before Sherlock stopped at some bushes and froze, tilting his head to listen a moment, then he turned to Jim and pointed up ahead, “Crying, sounds like you. Probably your brother then. You should go.”

Jim hesitated, looking in the direction Sherlock had pointed out, “How will I know you’ll stay here?”

“I won’t. I don’t like screaming.” Sherlock muttered disdainfully.

“But I want to keep talking to you.” Jim reached out to take Sherlock’s hand, ignoring his slight recoil and gently giving it a squeeze, “Will you come with me? I promise Jamie will keep quiet, he’ll just ask if you can talk to bunnies but that’s it. I know he wouldn’t do anything to startle you.”

“I’m not allowed.” Sherlock said softly, hazarding a glance up at Jim, his bright eyes both scared and intrigued.

Jim studied Sherlock to be sure he was really scared and not faking to run away, before letting out a sigh and squeezing his hand again. Sherlock’s fingers tightened.

“Alright, I understand. I really want to see you again though, please come see me?”

“By the house? I’m not allowed their either.” Sherlock bit his pink lip, almost apologetic.

“Oh…” Jim’s face fell but he nodded, carefully extracting his hand from Sherlock’s, “Don’t worry about it, I know that it’s probably dangerous for you to leave the woods. Just… I hope I see you again, I want to play with you again.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up at the word play, like it hadn’t occurred to him that that’s what they’d been doing, but he nodded eagerly, “I’ll look for you.”

“Goodbye Sherlock.” Jim whispered, leaning in slowly to make sure Sherlock was comfortable before kissing his cheek, then running off to find Jamie, cheeks red. Sherlock stared after him, stunned.

\---

Jim managed to calm his brother with a bit of cuddling, checking the sun overhead and planning their way back home, when he heard branches snapping again and turned to look, eyes finding Sherlock more easily this time. He was crouched near some bushes, fingers playing with the fur on his knees, and watching Jim and Jamie like he was unsure of what to do to approach them. When he noticed Jim, he gave him an almost snotty look but seemed pleased he’d been noticed, shuffling a little closer and glancing at Jamie in fear.

Jim caught Jamie’s attention and sat him up, speaking softly, “Can I introduce you to someone I met when I was looking for you? He’s really nice, I promise.”

Jamie’s eyes widened and he nodded eagerly, “Who did you meet? I want to say hi!” He clapped his hands, shaking with enthusiasm.

“His name is Sherlock. He lives in the woods and he’s special okay? You can’t stare.” Jim cautioned.

“I won’t Jim, come on. You know I won’t.” Jamie begged.

Jim pulled away and waved at Sherlock, grinning when he stood and carefully stepped into the clearing, biting his lip fearfully. Jamie looked up, eyes widening in shock for several moments, before he burst into a smile, “Pretty. Can you talk to bunnies?”

“I…” Sherlock looked baffled, walking closer, “Rabbits don’t talk.”

“Yes they do, they go…” Jamie wiggled his nose a few moments before grinning triumphantly, “Like that.”

“That’s just…” Sherlock trailed off when he noticed Jim’s look and he quickly revised, “Them talking. Yes, I can talk to bunnies.”

“Knew it.” Jamie said firmly, skipping off to dance around the clearing. Jim hauled himself to his feet and smiled at Sherlock smugly, “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“You don’t know how to get back, I’d rather you didn’t die.” Sherlock said stonily, offering Jim his hand, “I’ll take you there, or almost to the edge.”

“You’re just a biiig sweetheart.” Jim teased, gently patting the side of Sherlock’s face, “I’m certain of it, you care.”

“I don’t care, shut up and get your brat.” Sherlock scowled. Jim only giggled, beckoning Jamie and taking his hand. The three of them set off back to the house, Sherlock leading and Jim and Jamie following behind.

\---

By the time they got back, it was nearly dusk, the sun settling close to the horizon, and Jamie hung by Jim’s side, fearful of the dark. Jim found he wasn’t as afraid, not with Sherlock holding his hand and keeping him safe. They got within view of the cottage and Jim let out a sigh of relief, glad to be back even though it meant their father might lash out. Jamie hurried into the garden and collected their toys before sitting on the porch as he waited for Jim.

Jim stayed back with Sherlock, not yet releasing his hand. He felt warm and human and even though he seemed emotionally closed off, Jim knew Sherlock was someone to trust.

“I’ll come out here tomorrow and let you examine me.” Jim offered, “I know you want to.”

Sherlock hummed like he didn’t want to commit but his eyes gleamed at the suggestion. He wanted it badly. And Jim could tell, he would come.

“No need to say anything, I know you’ll be waiting.” Jim said coyly, squeezing Sherlock’s hand, “I have to go, I haven’t eaten all day and I’m exhausted.”

“What you did earlier.” Sherlock said quietly, “What was that?”

“It was… a kiss.” Jim murmured, “Why, do you not want me to give them to you?”

“No.” Sherlock’s hand tightened, “I liked it. I want more kisses. Show me all about kisses tomorrow.”

Jim giggled shyly, kissing Sherlock’s cheek again softly before pulling away and skipping toward the cottage, “We’ll see.”

He didn’t look back again until he and Jamie were inside and when he checked out the window, the creature was gone.


	2. Oisín: 2

The next day, Jim raced out of the house, leaving Jamie scrambling to get his shoes on behind him as he ran headlong into the woods he'd been terrified of just the day before. He needed to see Sherlock again, to be sure he was real and not some dream. When he was certain Jamie was following, Jim picked up his pace, blood roaring in his ears as he hopped over bushes and trees, panting heavily. Before long he was in a clearing deep in the trees, hopefully far enough from the house to be safe for Sherlock. Jamie rushed out of the woods behind him, clutching his stuffed bunny under one arm, and together they sat down in the grass to wait.

Time crept past. Sherlock didn't show up.

Jim's excitement faded as the day wore on, replaced by boredom, then worry. Jamie distracted himself by hopping his bunny around the grass, and Jim paced restlessly, poking at a dead squirrel with a stick every now and then.

The clearing became stifling as it warmed but Jim remained in the direct sunlight, squinting against the glare and prowling around the perimeter of the clearing. Jamie's movements turned sluggish when his skin prickled uncomfortably in the heat and he flopped down, eyes closing to block out the sun.

They didn't speak. Jamie knew better than to bother Jim when he was in one of his moods and he was clearly at his wit's end with the wait.

Jim gave in to the oppressive heat and laid down beside Jamie, letting it sap his energy. They breathed quietly and watched gnats spin in lazy spirals above them.

The sun beat down from above and Jamie rolled to cuddle Jim's chest despite their sweat, wanting to feel safer. Jim wrapped an arm around him and slowly dozed off.

When Jim awoke, it was to a familiar sniffing sound right in his ear. He bolted upright with a squeak and covered his ear, whirling to see Sherlock watching him with an apathetic expression. Jamie was knocked from Jim's chest and fell back, clutching his bunny in a panic before he recognized Sherlock and smiled.

"You're late." Jim said, glaring a little and rubbing his ear, shivering when it came back wet. What on earth had Sherlock done, licked it? Jim let out a suffering sigh, realizing he probably had.

"You're salty." Sherlock said, creeping forward to snuffle at Jim's cheek, "Is this how you keep cool?"

Jim jumped, eyes narrowing, "Yes, stop touching me without asking, it's not nice."

"I'm not nice." Sherlock said blandly.

"You have to be nice or I won't keep coming out here." Jim threatened, already starting to regret this. He didn't come out here for Sherlock to disrespect his boundaries, he had enough of that at home.

"You wouldn't leave, you want to study me. And you promised kisses, don't break your promise." Sherlock sounded incredibly sure of himself, not even entirely aware that a line had been crossed.

"I have no problem breaking a promise with someone who's mean." Jim said casually.

Sherlock stiffened, tilting his head in fascination, "I... don't like that."

"Then you should say sorry. And ask before you start touching me."

"I don't say sorry." Sherlock sneered, pushing himself up to stand and giving Jim a challenging look, "And you will come back."

Jim only shrugged, laying back down on the grass and letting Jamie cuddle close as he started to doze again.

"Did you talk to any bunnies?" Jamie asked Sherlock brightly.

"I..." Sherlock shrugged helplessly, glaring at Jim's lightly sleeping form, "Yes, I talked to several rabbits and they only had good things to say about you. Both of you. They wanted me to tell Jim to stop being a big baby."

Jim blocked him out completely.

Jamie giggled, "You're funny. Want to play with my toy?" He held up his bunny for Sherlock to see, demonstrating how he could make it hop around, "But he's not real. So he doesn't run away."

Sherlock heaved a sigh, forcing himself to sit down and examine Jamie's toy, grabbing his monocle and holding it up so he could see in more detail, "Old and worn, maybe a few years. Handmade judging by the stitch and material but not by either of you since you're not skilled enough for this kind of small, careful work. Your father isn't the type for sewing, not with hands that big, so probably your mother."

"My mam made it." Jamie said proudly, "How'd you know about our da's hands?"

Sherlock's eyes flitted to a mark on Jim's thin wrist but he thought better of bringing it up, "Lucky guess."

"You're smart." Jamie said firmly, taking his bunny back carefully and starting to jump it around, "I want to learn how to do that."

"Only an idiot guesses or reasons or deduces." Jim drawled patiently, eyes opening to stare at the sky, "When I grow up, no one will come near me unless I know everything about them and that can be found out by asking behind their back. You plan on approaching a person and learning about them when they get close enough for you to judge, but I will already know and be aware of the danger. That's how I'll stay alive."

Sherlock's eyes snapped up and he glared at Jim, "So you think it's beneath you."

"Very."

At the hint of Jim's attitude, Jamie pulled away and stood, leaving them to play by himself so he didn't anger Jim further.

"Maybe you just don't know how to do it yourself." Sherlock said, clearly trying to goad Jim. He hoped that by engaging the boy he could draw him back in so they could talk and hopefully he could convince him to agree to further examination without a pesky apology.

"You're so transparent." Jim's eyes slid down to meet Sherlock's before moving lower to his body, "And young. White spots on your fur. You probably shouldn't even be out here, considering you can't possibly be as fast as an adult, but they'd only let you if there aren't any threats. So you're not in much danger, the woods are relatively safe. Antlers are small as well, but I'm guessing they're new which is why they look so clean. And the magnifying glass is for you to deduce with, since you fancy yourself a detective."

Sherlock huffed at him, baring his teeth and letting out a noise between a hiss and a baby's whine.

"What, are you hungry?" Jim said sarcastically.

"Mostly right." Sherlock shook his head, chain once again spinning, "But not exact."

"Which is why it's not a trustworthy method for figuring people out." Jim reasoned.

"Once one gets it down to a science, the chance of making a mistake is drastically decreased."

"And you think you've gotten it down to a science."

"Of course." Sherlock said confidently.

"But there's still a chance to make a mistake."

"There's always a chance to make a mistake, even in asking behind someone's back and researching them."

"But there's more accuracy than guesswork."

"People can lie about who they are." Sherlock said quietly, tilting his head, "Make friends and pretend to be someone else, create fake records, enough to pass a background search."

"People can wear disguises." Jim responded with a shrug, "Good enough to fool even you."

"You don't know how good I am at deductions." Sherlock sneered.

"You don't know how good I am at disguising myself."

"You'll have to show me sometime."

Jim broke into a slow grin, stretching out on the grass, "Not unless you say sorry."

"Oh come on, this is getting ridiculous." Sherlock groaned, stretching out beside Jim and shuffling close to look at him with big eyes, "Please?"

"Sherlock, I don't want you touching me without my say so, it's not nice." Jim rolled onto his side to face Sherlock, "Say sorry."

Sherlock calculated his choices and Jim was once again amazed at how his eyes flickered with his thoughts, bright and full of depth. So remarkably human.

Sherlock at long last gave in with a sigh, muttering halfheartedly, "I'm sorry. Now may I examine you?"

Jim smiled and reached over to pat Sherlock's hand, "Yes, but be careful."

Sherlock was on him in an instant, tugging his shirt over Jim's head and momentarily blinding him before he got the fabric away and began to run his hands over Jim's chest, examining his skin. He seemed particularly interested in wiggling his fingers in Jim's bellybutton, frowning when it drew giggles from the boy.

"Do you not have one?" Jim asked through his laughter, trying to get a look at Sherlock's torso.

"What does it do?" Sherlock demanded.

Jim paused, trying to remember what he'd read, "I think it has something to do with babies. I'll bring my anatomy book tomorrow, we can find out then."

"Good." Sherlock hummed, "You're boring up here, take your stupid clothes off, I want to see your funny legs."

"You're so sweet." Jim said sarcastically, kicking off his trainers before standing up to unbutton his jeans, blinking at Sherlock, "Do you have a big family? Do you know a lot of others like you?"

"Just my parents and my brother." Sherlock said distractedly, yanking Jim's jeans away and scowling at his pants, "Why do you insist on wearing all these stupid things? Take them off."

"They aren't stupid, we don't have fur to keep us safe or warm." Jim hesitated, wondering if it mattered. No one would know and surely it didn't mean anything with the faun.

Jim let his pants drop and stepped out of them, face reddening slightly as the hot air blew across all his exposed skin. He hadn't been naked outside for as long as he could remember and it was shocking and more than a little embarrassing. Jamie giggled behind him and he shot his brother a dirty look before turning back at Sherlock to watch him carefully. He was gripping Jim's knee so he could examine the way it bent, hands tight as vices on the joint.

"How do you not have hair anywhere but your head?" Sherlock mused, eyes turning from the knee all the way up Jim's tiny body.

"I guess we don't really need it." Jim blushed darker, "Are you almost done?"

"Done?" Sherlock asked, clearly surprised, "I'm not even close."

The rest of the day was spent with Sherlock poking and prodding Jim's body, twisting him this way and that and ordering him to demonstrate different things he could do like running and jumping. Sherlock seemed absolutely fascinated the entire time and even by the end he was still asking questions Jim had no answer for. He promised to bring his anatomy book the next day and that seemed to appease the faun, to an extent.

When the sun was just dipping close to the horizon in the late afternoon, Sherlock finally allowed Jim to dress, then walked both of the brothers back to the edge of the woods, allowing Jim to lean into his side with a sleepy smile, hand squeezing tight.

"Satisfied?"

"Nearly. I'm still interested to learn more about how you walk." Sherlock smiled genuinely at Jim and the boy couldn't help but marvel at how sweet he could be when he wasn't trying to be rude, "I want to read your book, so don't forget to bring it."

Jim grinned, "Do you read?"

"Of course I read, don't be stupid." Sherlock glared and Jim realized the sweet smiles were probably over again.

"Who taught you? You probably don't go to school."

"My mother taught me. School is boring." Sherlock sniffed.

Jim nodded in agreement and they lapsed into amiable silence, Jamie skipping behind and the sounds of leaves crunching underfoot accompanying them.

When they got to the edge, Sherlock turned to Jim as Jamie bunny hopped up to the house, "Kiss?"

Jim nodded and cupped Sherlock's face, standing on his toes to kiss his forehead, cheeks brushing the short little antlers.

"Tomorrow you'll come back." Sherlock said, his demand coming off as more of a fearful question.

"Tomorrow I'll come back." Jim promised, "I want to play with you again. And look at your legs too."

Sherlock contemplated it before nodding slowly, "Yes. You may look at my legs."

"Thank you for being so nice to me." Jim added in a soft whisper, looking at the ground shyly, "Most people aren't nice to me. Only Jamie and that's because people don't like him too much either. But they like him better than me though. I'm glad I met you."

Sherlock was getting ready to say something snippy when he saw Jim's pained expression and held his tongue, rethinking his words, "You're... better than other humans. I don't dislike you. I wouldn't mind if you came back every day until we die."

Jim blushed and gave Sherlock a sweet smile, "Thank you. I wouldn't mind that either. I'll come back tomorrow."

"Please do." Sherlock urged.

Jim giggled, gave Sherlock's cheek one last kiss, then raced after his brother. When he looked out the window, Sherlock was still outside, just hanging back closer to the trees, and when he caught sight of Jim he seemed mortified and raced off, tail flicking.

Jim would go back.


	3. Oisín: 3

The next day, Jim took his time packing, making certain everything fit and was light enough to run with. Jamie shuffled his feet in the door of their bedroom and watched as Jim rearranged things to his liking, the sweeter twin anxious to go play with their new friend.

Their father was yelling again, but it was something they'd grown so accustomed to that by now it was just background noise. It was only worth listening to when it was directed at them, which was pretty obvious because he'd yell their name.

James.

Their father, the first James Moriarty, in all his infinite wisdom, had decided to name his son after himself. His first, born nine years before Jim and Jamie and long since moved out, had disgraced the name with some imagined slight and had lost the right to it. Their father had resorted to calling him boy. Later, with his decision to run away and join the army, their father had stopped even mentioning James, but Jim supposed it was better in the army than it was at home, taking the beatings meant for everyone else. Jim had never asked, but he knew their mother had been very happy for James. Her sons had opportunities to leave where she did not, and the day James disappeared Jim had seen her smiling on their walk to the corner market. She didn't deserve to put up with the man she had married through a toxic mix of her own innocence at the time and their father's cunning manipulation.

When she'd become pregnant again, their father had refused to have an ultrasound and had ignored the even larger baby bump the second time around. He became focused on telling everyone about how perfect his next son would be, how he would properly live up to the name given to him, and when Jim had arrived several long months later, he'd been ecstatic. When little Jamie showed up three minutes after, he'd been less than pleased. How would he know which one would live up to the name? If he chose wrong, then it would reflect badly on him.

And thus, the third James Moriarty and fourth James Moriarty entered the world, identical down to the name.

They were both referred to as James by their father and with every time he called for them, they'd known that one day he'd decide which of them was worthy and which one was a lost cause. However, their mother, in the secret of their room, called them Jim and Jamie, as did their teachers and the other students that tormented them.

They held hands on the walk to school. They sat together and hardly spoke except a few words in their own made up language. They were both small and thin. They shared the same dark, watchful eyes that were a little too intelligent for children and eyelashes a little too long for boys.

It was little wonder they'd been bullied. They made easy targets both at school and at home.

Jim heaved his bag onto his back and let Jamie lead the way out of the house. In the hall, their father brushed them aside thoughtlessly as he stomped past and Jim hurried Jamie into the garden before he could start to cry, fearful of the repercussions of even the softest noise.

This time, they walked through the forest at a relaxed pace, hands clasped tight together. Jamie's sobs sniffled to a halt after a bit and he was left feeling hollow. Jim knew the environment wasn't ideal, but Jamie was incredibly sensitive and even a casual, dismissive nudge could set him off, a horrible combination. He handled the beatings even worse.

Jim decided on a bright meadow and helped Jamie sit down on a blanket he'd packed before starting to get his books out.

Anatomy, astronomy, a book on tigers and another on mathematics. Jim's only escape.

This time, they didn't have to wait long for Sherlock to come, and when he did it was with less care than before, bursting from the trees with a happy shout and startling the twins.

Jamie didn't smile this time, the frustration at their situation too fresh in his mind to manage it, but Sherlock didn't notice, more interested in sniffing around Jim and his bag, "Books?"

"Books." Jim agreed, holding out the one on anatomy.

Sherlock snatched it away and flicked through it eagerly, taking in the diagrams. He sat down between Jim and Jamie so he could read, glancing at the blanket in surprise before happily leaning back and turning the pages.

Jim laid down next to him and cuddled into his side, reading as Sherlock did. The day progressed slowly and the occasional cloud drifted overhead, lessening the heat of the sun. No one spoke. Jim wiggled up to look over Sherlock's antlers, carefully petting the velvet that covered them. It was surprising that with only a few days, he already felt more comfortable out here in the woods now than he did at home, and happier next to Sherlock than he did with even his own withdrawn mother.

When Sherlock had his fill of the anatomy book, Jim handed over the one on astronomy and sat up to start looking over Sherlock's legs. His light brown fur was soft and short, all smoothed down toward his hooves. The area where Sherlock's upper half moved into his lower was less defined than Jim had expected it would be though, hair progressively getting thicker from where his belly button should be for a few centimeters before the fur filled out.

Examining Sherlock's groin brought a flush to Jim's cheeks but Sherlock seemed unembarrassed by the scrutiny. The fur was lighter, almost white around the area, and the sheath that protected Sherlock's delicate member was also covered in white fur. Jim only managed to find the courage to gently touch him once there, two fingers stroked up the even softer fur, but Sherlock remained absorbed in the book. When Jim was satisfied, he nudged Sherlock over onto his front so he could look at him from behind. His bottom was dotted with the occasional white spot, the shape very similar to a human's with two cheeks, and his tail was short and fluffy just at the top of them and below the small of his back, the underside white and the top spotted too. Overall, Sherlock was very... cute. The revelation darkened Jim's cheeks even more but he didn't say anything aloud, moving down to lay next to Sherlock and reading over his shoulder.

The day continued to drift away and Jamie played with his bunny as Jim and Sherlock continued to read.

When it got late, Sherlock let Jim take care of packing up rather than helping, instead skipping around and examining things with his monocle. As they walked back, Jim finally broke the comfortable quiet.

"What were you doing in that tree?"

Sherlock looked at him in confusion before offering a sheepish smile, "Ah... that. I heard you coming and I wanted to see what you were. Rather than running off, I climbed the tree."

Jim giggled, "How did you manage that with your hooves?"

"Not very well." Sherlock let out a soft chuckle, deep and lovely, and Jim's eyes crinkled up when he smiled at the faun, amazed once again that he'd found someone to talk to.

"Are we friends?" Jim asked, voice suddenly worried.

Sherlock tilted his head, eyes blank as he processed the question, before very slowly nodding, "Yes. I think we are."

Jim burst into a smile and leaned against Sherlock happily, "Good. I like being friends with you."

They made their way back to the cottage and Jim noticed that each time they walked together, Sherlock remembered to stand up like a person rather than hopping around. He was considerate, even if he didn't want to admit it. A good first friend. They got to the edge of the woods and rather than running up to the house like he normally did, Jamie held Jim's hand tighter, gazing across the garden. The windows were lit up with warm light and it looked as it always did, but the twins could both sense something was wrong.

One of their father's moods.

Jamie whimpered softly and the pain of terror resonated through his chest. He wanted to go back to the woods where everything was good and safe and warm, where he could be as loud as he pleased and just play with his toys and Jim and Sherlock, people that liked him and wouldn't hurt him.

"I don't want to go in." Jamie whispered. Jim's hand tightened around Jamie's, "I know."

"What's wrong?" Sherlock's voice went quiet as well, detecting that something was wrong.

"Nothing." Jim told him, removing his hand from Sherlock's carefully before leading Jamie up the path. This was not something to tell friends. Jim didn't want to mix his two separate lives. His father only ruined things, but he could not touch Sherlock.

Sherlock watched Jim and Jamie wipe off their feet before opening the door and heading inside, movements a touch slower than normal. Something was wrong. He crouched in the bushes and watched.

Inside, as soon as the door closed, the yelling began. Jim tried to pull Jamie into their bedroom quickly to get rid of the backpack but before they made it, their father blocked the way, looming above them. For all his sons being short and nonthreatening, James Moriarty was an imposing, terrifying man, with a cruel face, a nasty punch, and no fear of harming children or women.

Jim prayed his bag wasn't confiscated but of course it was and their father quickly found the blanket, grass stained and folded with Jim's clumsy hands. Clearly Jim had no respect for the things that were bought for him. The corner of a page of the anatomy book was folded down to a diagram of an adult man, Sherlock's doing so he could come back to it for study. The word Jim's father spat had Jamie cowering and Jim's heart falling.

Queer.

That of course wasn't simply for the picture, but that was just another example of things Jim had done that their father had deemed inappropriate. The stutter had been another, not as bad as a lisp their father had said when Jim had first been sent to speech therapy, but still a sign. Jim's appreciation of nice clothes, his tendency to put his outfits together nicely to avoid anyone knowing they were hand-me-downs. The times his eyes had lingered on other boys at the park. The times he had expressed his appreciation of butterflies or the pretty patterns in a spider's web.

Jamie was surely going to be the one named James in the end.

The beating was mild in comparison to some of the others but it still rattled Jim's teeth and made his eyes sting with tears. Jamie hid in their room and when their father at last left Jim on the floor, Jamie darted out to help him to get clean and to bed.

Jim didn't check the window for fear Sherlock had seen.


	4. Oisín: 4

The next day it rained. Their father forbade them from leaving the house and for that Jim was thankful. If Sherlock saw the bruised ring around his eye or his split bottom lip, there was no way he’d want to be his friend anymore. It had only happened once before, at their old school in Dublin, but Jim had been shunned by another boy who’d just started to talk to him kindly when he noticed his neck was marked with the impression of fingers. A boy with marks like those was surely bad, and if he wasn’t, then his family clearly was. The start of Jim’s problems with bullies.

Jim and Jamie stayed inside and Jim avoided the windows. Mostly they sat at the island in the kitchen and whenever their mother would gently rub Jim’s back to soothe him, he felt even closer to crying. But he wasn’t Jamie, he didn’t cry unless he was certain it couldn’t be heard. He knew better than that.

Their father stayed in his office and worked. Their mother made lunch for them, then got started on dinner. Jim at least appreciated the fact that staying in allowed them to eat during the day rather than waiting until dinner with aching stomachs.

The next day the rain pattered even louder on the roof and instead of waiting for their father to tell them to stay in, Jim simply refused to get out of bed. When their mother came in to take his temperature and rested her hand on his forehead while the thermometer steadily climbed, Jim finally broke down into tears. The touch was comforting, motherly, and Jim loved it, but he knew it would never be that way forever. Comfort never lasted. It was always creeping around the house quietly, never crying, being strong for his brother and their mother so they didn’t worry, because with James gone, Jim was the big boy of the family. He needed to be brave for them.

But sometimes Jim just needed to close his eyes and let his shoulders shake silently while his mother hugged him. Because he was just a little boy who needed to be hugged too. He was growing up too fast but there was nothing to be done. Jamie sat by in stunned silence, horrified to see his normally so reserved brother sob noiselessly.

The third day was nice again. Rays of sunlight shone out from the few clouds left and the rain trickled out. The marks had faded some but knowing Sherlock, he probably would deduce what had happened, and that meant avoiding him. Jim allowed Jamie to drag him out into the garden but remained solidly on the grass when Jamie skipped for the woods, then stared Jamie down until the younger twin returned and sat.

Jamie went back to playing silently and Jim sat in the shade of the cottage, staring into space.

Everything became faint and Jim allowed himself to pretend that they lived somewhere without their father. Just him and Jamie and their mother. And Sherlock. He was mean and a little too harsh, but when Jamie talked to him about bunnies, he restrained himself from mocking him. He stood when they walked together, he even apologized. Yes, Sherlock would be there too. They’d all be a big happy family and no one would ever feel like crying because there would be no one in the house that was scary. They’d be able to play and laugh and stay in when they wanted. There wouldn’t be any name calling and no one would make Jim feel bad for how he felt.

“Your father did this to you.” Sherlock’s voice was subdued when he spoke, sneaking up next to Jim and sitting down beside him as he zoned out.

Jim came back to himself in an instant and he flinched as he realized who it was, “You can’t be here. You’ll get hurt.”

“You were feeling scared when you left me. You didn’t say if you’d come back. You didn’t even give me a kiss. I thought…” Sherlock frowned softly, eyes narrowed in pain, “I thought we weren’t friends anymore. Why didn’t you come back?”

“It was raining.” Jim whispered, “Please, my father… You can’t be here.”

“I don’t care about that, I thought…” Sherlock cleared his throat, becoming more closed off, “You weren’t going to see me today either. Why don’t you like me?”

“I…” Jim bit his lip, close to tears with fear that his father may come out and catch sight of Sherlock, scared he would hurt him, “I love you as much as anybody, I don’t have anyone but you and my mam and Jamie. But Jamie knows about… this and you… I thought you might not want a friend who…”

"You... love me?" Sherlock frowned in confusion, looking Jim over, "A friend who what?”

“Is bad.” Jim admitted, eyes pained, “I’m… bad. He wouldn’t hurt me if I was good, I know that.”

“No.” Sherlock said firmly, “My daddy never hurts me and I’m bad all the time. Your daddy is wrong."

"But he's never wrong. He can't be." Jim whispered, turning away, "You need to go. If he sees you, he'll hurt you too."

"Why would he hurt me? If he was a good daddy, he wouldn't hurt anyone." Sherlock responded fiercely, taking Jim's hand, "I still want to be your friend. I want you to visit me, even if you don't look good. Please. I hate it when people leave."

Jim let out a soft noise, so close to a sob, before he squeezed Sherlock's hand tight and nodded slowly, "I'll come back."

"If he tries to hurt you again, I want you to leave." Sherlock said firmly, "Promise you'll leave and come find me. I want to help."

There was no way Sherlock would be able to help, Jim knew. And if he left, it would only be worse when he returned home. No, he couldn't promise that he would go to Sherlock. But he nodded anyway.

Sherlock leaned over and carefully kissed Jim's temple, next to his eye where the bruise was, "Does it feel better?"

Jim nodded again, turning back to give Sherlock a weak smile, "Better."

"And your lip." Sherlock nodded to the fading line where it had split. Jim blinked, realizing a little late what Sherlock was asking but nodding all the same, "Yes. Please."

There was a quiet moment where they studied each other, testing who was braver to take the first step, and Sherlock noticed the sunlight lit Jim’s normally dark irises to a golden brown. He decided to lean in and press their mouths together, just a soft chaste kiss, but long and firm enough to make Jim's cheeks and the tips of his ears turn pink, whole body feeling warm. Both of their first kisses. Neither made a sound.

“Better?” Sherlock asked again when he pulled back, fingers tightening around Jim’s. He knew it was probably very dangerous to be doing what he’d done when Jim’s father wasn’t far, especially near the house his family had warned him about, but he’d wanted to and when he wanted to do something, thoughts of danger rarely entered his mind. Jim was scared and he needed to make him feel safe.

“Much better.” Jim whispered with a sheepish smile, “I really liked that.”

“Please come with me.” Sherlock pleaded, “We can go into the woods, we can talk more about deductions and the stars. I don’t like reading about them much but if you told me I would.”

“I…” Jim faltered, eyes flicking to the house a moment before he nodded, “You go on ahead, Jamie and I will follow. Be careful.”

Sherlock gave Jim a confident grin and darted off, making it to the trees in a moment and disappearing from view. Jim took his time collecting himself, head spinning and knees a bit shaky, but he managed to stand and take Jamie’s hand when he settled, leading his brother out of the garden. Jamie giggled softly as they made their way deeper into the woods.

“You were kissing him.” Jamie teased.

“Shush.” Jim’s face went red again.

“Is he your boyfriend now?” Jamie said in a sing song voice.

“Please, you can’t tell Da.” Jim said sharply and spun on Jamie, already hyperventilating as his eyes teared up, “Please, he’ll hurt me for it, I know it’s bad, I don’t want to be bad, but I just thought it was nice. Please, don’t tell. I won’t do it again.”

Jamie quickly nodded, stepping up to hug Jim, “I wasn’t gonna tell. I just wanted to know. I wouldn’t tell. I don’t think it’s bad.”

“’Course it is, Da said it’s bad.” Jim sniffled, pressing his face into Jamie’s shoulder.

“Da said Mam didn’t clean the dishes the other day even though she did. He can be wrong too.” Jamie pointed out, rubbing Jim’s back, “Let’s go play with Sherlock. It’ll be nice.”

Jim slowly calmed down and when he finished crying, he made sure his eyes were dry before he took Jamie’s hand again and they headed onward. They eventually stumbled onto a small clearing in the woods where Sherlock found them within minutes and they began to talk about the stars. Jim found that when Sherlock chose to, he listened attentively, like the speaker was the most interesting thing in the world, and as Sherlock’s stunning eyes remained fixed right on him, holding him still, Jim couldn’t help but feel incredibly special, something he’d never really had before. He resolved to learn more so he could keep this wonderful attention, since Sherlock’s addictive fascination might fade and now that he’d gotten a taste, there was no way Jim could go back to being a normal child. He needed to be extraordinary for Sherlock.


	5. Oisín: 5

As the summer progressed, Jim and Sherlock became very close. They spent all their time together, every day out in the woods, exploring and running around and talking about Sherlock's methods of deduction and Jim's methods of disguise. Jim took Jamie on their bikes to get books Sherlock requested from the library and made sure to return them at the end of the day even though it cut into their time with Sherlock because it mattered that Sherlock wanted to learn.

Jim often snuck out of his shared bed with Jamie when he found it hard to sleep and climbed out the window to see Sherlock alone, when they could lay out in the cool grass and study the stars without having to worry about Jamie getting lost. Sherlock always listened attentively as Jim described the constellations he had difficulty envisioning and when his eyes lit up pale blue in the moonlight when he finally understood what was being described, Jim became even more addicted to his attention. Whenever they were together, for the first real time in his life, he felt wanted, desirable thanks to his intelligence.

Jim bought a compact magnifying glass with what money he managed to find and when Jamie noticed he was holding it on their way through the woods, he teased him about his crush until Sherlock appeared, though he suspected the faun had heard. He handed the gift over with shaky hands and just as he became scared Sherlock would say he didn't like it, he was tackled to the ground and showered with enthusiastic kisses, which were later apologized for since Sherlock hadn't asked permission. Jim somehow didn't mind. The monocle disappeared and Sherlock carried Jim's magnifying glass around instead, even though it wasn't as easy to hold onto.

Neither Jim nor Jamie ever met Sherlock's family. He never explained much about who they were or where they lived, so the twins never asked.

The beatings still happened, but Jim felt less shame when they went to see Sherlock, and he found it bothered him less when it was hot and he had to strip off his jacket to reveal his bruised arms. Sherlock didn't say anything about them, but sometimes Jim caught him looking with a dark expression, like he was planning the best way to get the beatings to stop permanently. Jim only gave him a reassuring smile and distracted him with a new subject. Things seemed better out in the woods.

\---

The twins packed in the morning and left the backpack stuffed with things to show Sherlock by the door so they could eat breakfast, their mother so used to their habits by now that she made sure to feed them extra before they left so they weren't nearly as hungry when they returned for dinner.

Jim and Jamie wolfed down their breakfast, eager to go, and when they finished they both gave their mother hugs and skipped out the door, Jim carrying the heavy bag on his back.

"How much do you like Sherlock? Are you in loooove?" Jamie asked casually as they crossed the sunlit garden, giving Jim an uncoordinated wink which ended up as him just blinking strangely.

Jim blushed and ducked his head, "Jamie, come on. I don't know."

"You are. You're going to get married." Jamie teased, nudging Jim's shoulder.

"Maybe." Jim let out a soft giggle and quickly shook his head, "Da wouldn't like it. So no."

"What are you going to do when we start school again and you can't keep seeing him anymore?" Jamie opened the gate and led Jim through.

"I'll figure something out." Jim huffed at Jamie, feeling a spike of fear at the reminder. When school started he'd be busy all day and once homework was over, he would have very little time with Sherlock before the sun went down. What would he say? What if Sherlock thought he just didn't want to see him anymore?

Jim was pulled from his thoughts when he heard the door swing open and he looked back, heart stopping as he saw their father striding towards them, expression black. Jim instinctively bolted, racing for the woods, but Jamie was too slow and their father grabbed the younger twin by the arm, dragging him back as he struggled.

"Jim, help!" Jamie screamed, tears already starting to stream down his face as he was held up by his arm in their father's powerful grip, shoulder straining in its socket.

Jim froze at the edge of the woods and looked back at their father, standing still and holding Jamie tight. He couldn't run, he couldn't abandon Jamie. But he was so scared. His father must have heard...

"Come on Jim." He spat the name out like it was an insult, the first time he'd ever used the nickname, "I won't hurt James if you come here."

Jim's heart fell when he realized that their father had finally made his decision about who was the better son but the disappointment quickly left him as soon as the man tightened his grip and Jamie's bones curved inward, close to snapping.

"Or would you rather run off to suck your sick friend's cock?"

Jamie let out a small sob and Jim gave in, making his way over the grass to their father's side. As soon as he was close, the man grabbed Jim by the scruff of the neck and released Jamie, ignoring him as he scrambled away in favor of slamming a fist into Jim's stomach.

"You sick bastard. I should have smothered you in the crib."

Jim gasped for air and blinked back tears, knees buckling under him. Instead of letting him fall, his father just tightened his hold on Jim's neck, adding a second hand beside the first, and lifted him off the ground, ignoring his feeble struggling.

"This is what you deserve."

Jim coughed and tried to draw breath, eyes going glassy as he was strangled. Everything was getting dark around the edges and sparks were going off in his head, it was so hard to focus, he couldn't pry the strong fingers wrapped around his throat away. Someone would save him, surely someone would stop this before he was killed. Distantly he could hear Jamie screaming in terror, "Stop, Daddy please stop! You'll kill him, Daddy please!" The look in his father had in his eyes was horrifying, a burning hatred for his son that Jim couldn't begin to understand. What was so wrong about him liking Sherlock? Sherlock was a good boy, Sherlock wouldn't ever hurt him like this or make fun of him. Sherlock was good. But his father wasn't good. His father deserved what he was giving Jim.

The next moment, just as Jim's vision went completely black, he was dumped unceremoniously on the ground, body limp. He felt completely numb and more sparks were going off in his eyes, but he could sense he was being moved, someone wrapping their arms around him and picking him up. He felt safe and everything went black.

\---

When Jim came to, it was to the steady beep of an ECG monitor and the rough scratch of a breathing tube forced down his throat, the realization almost sending him into a panic. He could feel Jamie's hand wrapped around his own and he relaxed when he recognized it, thankful that at least his brother was safe. He slipped back under.

For several days, Jim lay in the hospital and drifted in and out of consciousness. Most of the time his mother was there in the chair right next to him, sleeping or petting back his hair, whispering apologies until he drifted back to sleep. Jamie remained next to him through it all, his hand a steady presence that kept Jim from crying or screaming when he was awake and realized what was going on.

Jim dreamt of running away with Sherlock and Jamie and not having to be afraid all the time. Not having to hold back tears because he had to be brave when he was really just a little boy that needed to let everything out when it built up inside of him like anyone else. He already felt so fragile, part of him wished his father had finished him off so he didn't need to be scared anymore. But Jim wouldn't do that, not when Jamie relied on him. He had to keep being strong, and one day they would get away.

\---

Every day, unaware of what had happened and with no one to tell him where Jim had gone, Sherlock waited as close to the edge of the woods as he dared go and let fear grow inside of him, that Jim had left him or perhaps the boy's father had finally pushed too far.

"Please let Jim be okay..."


	6. Oisín: 6

After several more days of recovery Jim was cleared to return home one afternoon in a neck brace, drugged out of his mind on painkillers. His mother didn’t say anything about his father but Jim knew he hadn’t visited. Of course he hadn’t.

Jamie sang stupid disco songs on the drive back home and Jim kept silent, lost in his thoughts of being forced to return to that household. He didn’t want to please his father anymore, what he wanted was to be happy. He was a good boy, no matter what his father said, and liking Sherlock wasn’t wrong. If they could run away it would be perfect. They should run away.

Jim began to make plans for how they would do it.

When they got to the house, his father wasn’t outside. Jim didn’t bother trying to look for Sherlock either, the neck brace was cumbersome and even if he did see him, he couldn’t go to him. Jim simply let Jamie lead him inside.

Dinner passed without incident, Jim ate quietly and didn’t try to mess with the brace. His mother gave him apologetic looks across the table, clearly worried about bringing her baby home, but she didn’t speak. Even Jamie kept his voice down through the meal and when it was time to sleep, they took turns showering and then got into bed, Jim more carefully than Jamie.

In the dark they snuggled up, Jim stuck on his back with Jamie wrapping his little body around Jim’s arm, and Jim waited until Jamie dropped off before pulling away and removing his brace. His throat was still sore, but he needed to see Sherlock and he couldn’t if he was stiff. Jim tugged on a pair of trainers and climbed out the window, not bothering to change out of his pajamas.

The woods were dark and scary again, but Jim called out for Sherlock when he was far enough from the house and it made him feel safer to know he could be with him soon. The moon wasn’t out yet and the woods were even creepier, unknown things scuttling through the undergrowth and through the trees all around Jim.

After nearly an hour of searching and feeling terror at every sound he heard, Jim began to move a little faster to avoid anything touching him, soon full out sprinting, tripping over roots and rocks in his haste to get away from imagined monsters though that didn’t slow him at all. The woods got thicker and unfamiliar and Jim was starting to panic as he realized he was completely lost, on the verge of crying as he screamed Sherlock’s name for help. The moon finally broke out from behind a cloud but that didn’t stop Jim from running straight into a solid, warm shape and falling back with a gasp, blinking up at the figure, “Sh-Sherlock?”

“Not even close.” Drawled a voice, similar to Sherlock’s in its world weary tone but a little too formal and uptight to be him, “But I do know him and I don’t think it would be proper if you continued your association with him.”

Jim scrambled to his feet just as the figure crouched close, grey eyes catching Jim’s to study him and chill him to the core. In the moonlight Jim could make out a pale, almost teenaged torso attached to deer legs, though this young man’s antlers were much larger, nearly the size of those on a fully grown deer.

Jim swallowed hard and shook his head, “I need to see him, I need to apologize for being gone these past few days.”

“Well yes you abandoned him, but that’s not what’s important here.” This faun’s hair was a dark red, almost auburn, and wavy instead of curled, though it seemed like they would be related. Why else would he be looking out for Sherlock?

“Listen to me very closely, James.” He said slowly, nudging Jim back with a hand, “You aren’t like Sherlock. I think it’s clear that you’re the wrong species, as well as the wrong sort of person in that species. Humans kill us off for sport, and you come from a bad family even more likely to do so. Your father hurts his own kin. Why should he have any love for mine, especially when Sherlock is spending his time with you? I heard what he said to you, about your sexuality, and I don’t agree with how he treats you, but Sherlock is in danger if your father ever finds out who it is you come and see out here. You need to let him go.”

“I…” Jim blinked hard, eyes starting to well with tears, “I can’t. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I need him. Please, you have to let me talk to him, we can figure something out. I was thinking we could run away together maybe, I can’t live with my da anymore but if I had Sherlock I’d be okay, I wouldn’t have to be scared anymore.”

“You’re putting Sherlock in danger because you’re selfish.” The figure hissed, pushing Jim back again to knock him off balance, “What if you father kills him? How would you feel then?”

Jim began to sob, shaking his head quickly, fearful and lost, “I don’t want him to die, I love him. I can be good, I can keep him safe. My da won’t ever know.”

“Mycroft.” Sherlock’s voice rang out and the figure stepped away from Jim, shooting him one last glare before bounding off. In a moment, Sherlock was by Jim’s side, hugging him close and kissing all over his face, hands carefully touching at his neck.

“Oh Jimmy, I thought you’d been killed for sure. How bad is it, tell me what happened.” Sherlock pleaded breathlessly, concern clear in his eyes as he petted Jim’s fluffed up hair back, “Don’t listen to Mycroft, he’s an idiot. Just explain.”

“My da nearly killed me.” Jim whispered, shaking hard, “I was in hospital. But I couldn’t come back until they were sure I was healthy. I’m sorry I didn’t come back.”

“I’m just happy you’re alright.” Sherlock hugged Jim tight and Jim was certain he would’ve felt happy had it not been for the vast emptiness inside of him left by Mycroft’s words. As long as his father was around, Sherlock wasn’t safe.

\---

Jim explained all that had happened to him while in the hospital and while Sherlock seemed fascinated as always, he also managed to be sympathetic, holding Jim's hand and kissing his cheeks whenever he sniffled. When the boy grew tired, Sherlock led the way back to the cottage and this time, he even helped him in through the window despite Jim's protests about it not being safe. Jim climbed in and removed his trainers, then leaned out the window to peck Sherlock on the lips again, waving at the faun as he scampered off. Jim blushed happily at being able to meet Sherlock, heart fluttering with excitement and nervousness and anticipation of seeing Sherlock again.

As Jim closed the window he caught sight of Mycroft in the distance, glaring at him from deep in the woods. The look made Jim shiver with fear and even after the creature turned and disappeared into the trees, Jim curled up in his bed and shook with terror at the possibility of him returning. Or even worse, Sherlock being caught.

How on earth could he keep Sherlock safe?


	7. Oisín: 7

From then on, Jim worried constantly about what would happen if Sherlock was discovered. Whenever his father looked at him or watched him shoulder his backpack in the kitchen some mornings, he felt a shiver of fear race down his spine. Whenever Sherlock got bolder and walked him closer to the edge of the woods at dusk, Jim felt sick at the thought that he might be seen. Times that Jamie talked about their adventures, omitting Sherlock’s name, Jim could feel their father, though not in the room, like an ominous cloud hanging overhead.

He never saw Mycroft again. The one time he asked, Sherlock admitted it was his stupid brother but aside from that he wasn’t brought up. Sometimes Jim got the feeling their playing was being observed. He grew quiet and Sherlock picked up on it after a few minutes, looking up at Jim in concern. When he was asked what was wrong, Jim shook it off and returned to whatever they’d been doing, avoiding Sherlock’s eyes until the faun returned to their game.

Sometimes Sherlock would ask to be kissed and Jim would indulge him, pecking each other on the cheek or lips and then giggling childishly about it until they worked up the courage to do it again.

Jamie played with Sherlock and Jim when they weren’t talking about math or science or deductions and he’d convince them to join him in more age appropriate games, like playing pirates on a collection of boulders that made up their pirate ship. Sherlock proved a good captain and quite skilled at racing his way over the uneven rocks, so Jim didn’t mind swearing his allegiance to him, vowing that he’d never betray his captain, even on fear of death. He’d finished it off by kissing the back of Sherlock’s hand and Jamie had teased him for being romantic later on. Jim didn’t mind.

It felt good to spend his time with Sherlock and Jamie. He continued to make plans to run away, saving whatever money he could and researching in the library how to survive in the woods and ways to earn a living in London. It seemed to him that moving there would help somehow, getting back to a city like he was used to, getting away from his father, and then everything would be okay.

\---

It all fell apart a few weeks before Jim and Jamie were set to start at their new school. As September got steadily closer, Jim began to focus more attention on his plan to run away than anything else, explaining to Sherlock that them leaving was more important than playing games. Sherlock had clearly been unhappy but he’d agreed, staying with Jamie while Jim rode his bike to the library day after day. Only when Jim returned to get his brother did they see each other and it was for a short amount of time, exchanging a few short words before it got too dark to keep talking and Jim had to rush Jamie in.

Sherlock seemed interested in the idea of leaving his comfortable and Jim’s plans for disguising him, when Jim had mentioned it he hadn’t even seemed fazed about the idea of leaving his family. The truth was, Sherlock loved them very much, but with Jim in danger, it didn’t seem right that he tie him down. They could run away together. They could be happy.

Their father made the announcement at the dinner table one evening and when Jim heard it, he felt his entire world drop out from under him, “We’ll be moving in a few days so you boys can get a good, strict education from a school closer to the city. Learn right from wrong, maybe repent your sins.” A pointed look was directed at Jim and he nearly broke down, not from the implication his father made, but the idea that they’d be moving before he could get his plan into action. Maybe he could bolt…

“Now I know you two like to toddle off into the woods, but you’ll both need to stay close to help with the packing. I’ll be watching.” The threat was clear to Jim. If he left, Jamie was in danger and vice versa, though the latter would never happen.

Jim nodded slowly, setting his fork back down and withdrawing from the meal, “Yes sir.”

\---

That night, Jim snuck out of his window and raced into the woods alone, voice soft as he called for Sherlock. It didn’t take long to find him and when Sherlock pulled him into a hug and gave him a bright smile, Jim’s sadness faded, just wanting to stay with his best friend and his brother out here. Jim didn’t want to tell him what was going on, not with how happy he looked, but he did anyway. They only had a few days left. Not nearly enough time or money for them to run away to London as their own family just yet, no time to come up with a new plan.

Sherlock and Jim laid down on the soft warm grass and held each other tight as Jim described constellations for Sherlock, shivering when he looked fascinated. How could he survive without Sherlock making him feel important? How could he survive his father’s abuse without someone to talk to, someone untouched and pure? How could he be away from the one person who understood him completely? It didn’t make sense that something so awful could happen to them.

In the day, Jim helped his family pack. His mother remained no help and Jamie only managed to give Jim’s hand a reassuring squeeze every now and then as they passed one another while they loaded the car and the truck.

In the nights, Jim spend his time with Sherlock, whispering to him stories about how they’d run away even though it wouldn’t happen now. Jim revised them instead to ones where they’d meet again when Sherlock managed to find him and they both agreed to that. They would find each other.

Every morning when Sherlock walked Jim back home, he hugged him tight as they walked and reminded him not to get lost after leaving so he could find him easily. Jim would sniff and promise that he wouldn’t, then remind Sherlock the same. They would laugh and kiss each other’s cheeks before Jim hurried back across the garden and climb back into bed, sleeping for a few hours then being dragged out of bed to pack.

Jim gave Sherlock his book of fairy tales on one of the nights. Tucked between two of the pages was a folded up piece of paper with Jim’s scrawling script across it, telling the story of a fox and a deer, where the fox had to leave one day with a hunter but the deer followed and saved him. It was sweet and well-meant and when Sherlock finished it he blinked back his urge to cry and hugged Jim to his chest protectively.

Sherlock gave Jim his old monocle on another night. Jim slipped it into his pocket and whenever he got the chance while moving their things, he’d stick his hand into his pocket to feel the cool class and metal. He never pulled it out. It was too pure to be in a place his father had tainted, too precious to even be seen by him in case it lost its value.

Their last moments together were on the morning of the final day, when Jim spent their later hours together kissing Sherlock’s face and antlers until the faun was blushing and giggling like any other child. When the sun began to rise, Jim took Sherlock’s hand as they watched, squeezing tight.

“You need to come find me.” Jim whispered.

“I will. I promise I will.” Sherlock was silent for a few long moments before turning his head to look at Jim as the boy gazed at the fading stars, “I love you Jimmy. I know I never said it, but I wanted you to know before you left. I love you so much. I wouldn’t mind having you come out here forever. I wouldn’t mind letting you kiss me or being your boyfriend like Jamie was saying, even if I don’t think I’d be able to be nice all the time like boyfriends should be. But I would try for you.”

Jim looked back at Sherlock, eyes lighting up golden brown, “I love you too. I like that you make me feel important. No one’s ever given me that before.”

“You’re the most important person I know. You’re smart and you see the world differently. You didn’t hit me with that rock.” Sherlock laughed softly and Jim blushed.

“I’d come out here forever if I could. I would like to kiss you and have you be my boyfriend. You don’t need to be nice, because I just know you are.” Jim leaned over to kiss Sherlock’s nose.

“I’m not nice.” Sherlock huffed, turning back to look at the sky.

“Yes you are. But that’s okay, you can be the good guy that acts mean and I can be the bad guy that acts nice.” Jim smiled widely.

“You’re not a bad guy. You’re very good. I’ll come find you.” Sherlock said firmly, leaning into Jim’s side.

“Don’t get lost.”

Sherlock walked Jim home later without another word and when they got to the cottage, the car was already packed up, Jamie’s form visible getting ready through the window to their room. They didn’t speak and Jim only gave Sherlock another quick kiss before running off, climbing in through the window on his own and not looking back in case he broke down. He dressed and followed Jamie out to brush their teeth, making sure they had everything then leaving for the car.

Jim and Jamie got into the back seat and Jamie slumped against Jim as he had been when they’d arrived. Jim stared out the window at where Sherlock was hiding, giving him a small, somber wave as the car started before they drove back down the gravel path and around the bend.

Sherlock was gone.


	8. Oisín: 8

Sherlock continued with Jim’s plans of running away, though his own were a little different now. Plans to successfully hide his identity and ways to saw off his antlers on his own. The times Sherlock went back to where his parents tended to roam and the shared space that they slept were rare and he preferred to sleep near the edge of the woods in case Jim returned.

Spring came and Mycroft busied himself with staking out the places where most of the young females of their kind spent their time, preparing for rut. Sherlock found the change in his brother’s temperament welcome because it allowed him to focus more energy on running away without having to worry about being caught when he forced himself into human clothes Jim had left for him and tried in vain to remove his antlers without his velvet bleeding.

Walking like a human took time. The mechanics were completely unlike anything he was used to and he spent days getting it down and even then he had to focus to manage it. Clothes were tight and confining and shoes proved a challenge, needing to be stuffed with socks and leaves and whatever else Sherlock could find.

As winter overtook them and Sherlock spent more time with his family, his bundle of clothes held close as he curled up under the base of a tree for warmth, he thought of ways to get rid of his antlers. His velvet had disappeared when they’d stopped growing, but still they remained hard and difficult to get through.

Mycroft noticed the scores of notches on them from where Sherlock had tried to remove them and being as nosy as he was, between the times he left to bother females, he bothered Sherlock.

“Little brother, what have you been doing?” Mycroft slid into the spot beside Sherlock right up against the snow bank, which pushed Sherlock harder into the trunk of the tree.

“You smell, get away from me.” Sherlock hissed, crossing his arms and glaring over his shoulder at Mycroft.

“I’ve been busy doing something productive, encouraging the survival of our species. What about you? It seems like you’ve been trying to cut off your antlers. Still trying to run away?” Mycroft asked smugly.

“The only encouraging you’re providing is an unattractive alternative, which drives females to the more eligible males. At least your genetic material isn’t being passed on.” Sherlock muttered.

“We share genetic material Sherlock.” Mycroft pointed out, “You’re not much better.”

“Exactly why I’m not wasting my time.”

“Ah yes, you’d rather run off to copulate with a human.”

“I never said that’s what I wanted.”

“But you’re still going after him.”

“Of course, he’s my best friend.”

“Have you started having an urges yet? It’s bound to happen soon. And if you continue to pursue a human, you might grow too attached. What happens when you want to have children?”

“Children are disgusting, I don’t want any of that. I need to help Jim, he’s probably scared with his father. I’ve taken so long already.” Sherlock said forlornly.

“His father will hurt you, and trying to remove your antlers is foolish. You can get an infection and could die.” Mycroft scowled, “You’ll shed them in the spring anyway. Just wait.”

“But both of us got them in summer Mycroft, I don’t have long enough to find him if that’s true.”

“When you’re older you’ll start to get them later, in autumn. If you wait until you’re an adult to follow him, then their growth will be more predictable and you’ll be able to search for James longer.” Mycroft pointed out.

“Wait…” Sherlock looked back at Mycroft in surprise, “Are you helping me?”

Mycroft heaved a sigh, “You’ve never stayed fixated on one thing for so long. I figure if you’re interested in helping James, you should at least be smart about it. Wait until you’re an adult and it’s safer. Then James will have gotten away from his father so neither of you will be in danger, then you can start your new lives.”

“But he could get hurt…”

Mycroft frowned softly, “Sherlock, what help would you provide him if his father lashed out at him? You’re a child, he would only kill you as well. In fact, you being around, giving his father the idea that James is still the same sexual orientation as he suspects would only make him angrier, and if you run away, the police would only catch you and return James to his family. Being caught by the police without family or identification would get you put in an orphanage with a higher chance you’ll be found out as one of us. They’d question you about us, Sherlock, and put your entire family in danger. Then you’d most likely be killed and probably dissected by scientists.”

Sherlock blinked hard, trying not to cry, “Then what do I do? I need to find him.”

“You wait. You learn about how humans act and you perfect your character. You mature and you find ways that hurt the least to hide your antlers. You walk like them. You get more clothes. You start making money so you can be prepared to support yourself and James when you find him. You educate yourself.”

“How long will that take?” Sherlock rolled over to look at Mycroft, “He needs me now.”

“He’ll just have to manage until you’re ready. This will take a few years.” Mycroft reached out, patting Sherlock’s shoulder, “Be brave, little brother.”

Sherlock was quiet, wanting to run and find Jim immediately, but he knew Mycroft was right.

“I’ll wait.”


	9. Fia Fireann: 1

When Sherlock reached his eighteenth year in 1994, the age he and Mycroft had agreed on for him to go off after Jim, he was still just as determined to find his boy, possibly even more so now with all his preparation. Part of the reason Mycroft had set the age was because he had been hoping that in eleven years, Sherlock would give up on his endeavor and save them both the trouble of blending in with people, but no such luck.

Both of them had practiced their ability to fool others, making it a competition to see who could spend the most time in town without anyone suspecting them. By now, they had it down to an art.

On the day of their departure, Mycroft again helped Sherlock cut off and grind down his antlers until they could be hidden by a hat, then offered him the one they’d decided on. A deerstalker. Sherlock had found it delightfully ironic and when he put it on and examined his reflection in the pond he burst into a genuine smile.

“I look like a human Myc.”

“Yes yes, very disgusting.” Mycroft rolled his eyes and focused on grinding his own down to his head so he wouldn’t need to wear a hat.

“If you blow my cover I’ll never forgive you.” Sherlock muttered darkly, straightening out his Belstaff. The length helped hide any mistakes in his gait that could occur if he was startled or too lost in his own head to pay attention.

“Sherlock, if I blow your cover I’d be blowing my own, don’t you think I’d exercise a bit more caution than that?” Mycroft huffed in annoyance.

“I don’t know, ever since we really got into this you’ve stopped exercising completely.” Sherlock spat, whirling to glare at Mycroft.

“I told you, humans are fatter than that. If we want to look like them, we have to actually commit.” Mycroft sneered, “You’re too thin.”

“It’s going to be incredibly embarrassing to be around you, I hope you realize that. No one looks like that.”

“It’s not that noticeable Sherlock, you’re just being a drama queen.” Mycroft stood and made sure his hair lay flat over what was left of his antlers, straightening out his suit, “Are you ready?”

Sherlock broke into a wicked grin, “Let’s go.”

Their parents hugged them repeatedly before allowing them to go, not understanding why Sherlock wanted to leave to badly but still very supportive. They reminded Mycroft to look after him and when they were finally allowed to leave and get onto the bus in town that would take them to London, Sherlock held his backpack close and made sure to stress to Mycroft that he wouldn’t be allowed to order him around.

“I’m an adult. The only reason I’m letting you come with me is in case something happens. You’re a safety net, not my guardian.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Mycroft scoffed, “You’re a brat.”

They shared a look of brotherly contempt before Sherlock turned to the window and distracted himself in the scenery, dreaming of finding his Jim.

\---

London was busy. Sherlock had never been anywhere like it. When he and Mycroft exited the bus and he stepped out into it for the first time, his senses were bombarded with new sights and sounds and smells. Deductions rushed into his mind without his permission and he found that every single person hurrying past him had a story to unravel. Some of them were good, the mother of three with her steady job and loving husband, or the man who’d just kissed the girl he’d liked, but Sherlock hadn’t been prepared for all the painful deductions either.

Not just his senses were assaulted, but suddenly his emotions as well. All the people in financial trouble, the people whose relationships were falling apart, the people that were dying or involved in criminal activity that hurt others. The people with addictions, the people that felt unfulfilled with their lives, the people close to giving up. The people who’d already given up and were just waiting for the right time.

Mycroft fell silent in his rattled off reminders for Sherlock as they stepped out and he seemed overwhelmed as well, looking around quickly.

“I didn’t expect it to be this big.” He admitted.

\---

They moved into a dingy one bedroom flat that Mycroft seemed incredibly offended by but Sherlock found it perfect, since it served its purpose as a safe place to sleep. They managed to get a mattress to sleep on and when the nights got cold they simply huddled up under a blanket, used to extreme temperatures. It was nicer living inside than Sherlock had thought it would be.

In the day, Sherlock searched for Jim by wading through records at the library. He hadn’t anticipated that it would be so difficult without knowing Jim’s last name and he kicked himself each night after hours of work that yielded no results for not thinking to ask.

Whenever Sherlock’s deductions got too intense, he hid at home until his head stopped pounding and he could think again. Horrible migraines plagued him but he kept going. Mycroft’s were even worse and there were times that Sherlock knew Mycroft wanted to ask to go home, but kept quiet because after all this time he was determined to put Sherlock’s needs first.

Mycroft had thankfully gone through quite a bit of trouble back home getting false birth certificates printed for both of them, as well as National Insurance number cards, so they both got jobs to pay for their place. Sherlock hated that part of his time had to go to working when he needed to find Jim sooner, but he knew they’d be forced to leave if he didn’t help out.

He continued to go through records and old newspaper clippings. The months passed and Sherlock kept his antlers short, as did Mycroft. No one suspected.

\---

The day Sherlock found out was the day he thought he might give up like so many people he saw walking past.

He headed out of the flat with a wave to Mycroft, then made his way to the library. He wasn’t feeling particularly confident that he’d find something about Jim that day, it had been so long, but he still forced himself to be optimistic that it would be soon.

Sherlock opened the door and shuffled in, moving to his space and returning to his tedious task. Several hours went by but he kept at it, ignoring anyone that asked him what he was doing. They wouldn’t understand and explaining only slowed him down.

He lifted up another newspaper, dated 1992, about the time Jim would’ve been sixteen and slowly his impassive look dropped into a frown when he read the headline.

“Family Slaughtered By Father, Twin and Mother Dead”

Sherlock skimmed through the article and as he read further, he gradually felt like everything around him slowing to a stop and fading away, the only things in the world just him and the newspaper.

“12 November 1992, Thursday  
Late yesterday evening in central London, a grisly scene was discovered by police called in on a domestic disturbance call. The murderer - a man with a long history of abuse based on the bruises on his victims - allegedly became upset with his wife, Aimee Moriarty (43), and stabbed her repeatedly with a kitchen knife while his sons hid in the next room. When he finished, he turned his attention to one of the twins who went by the name of Jim (16), stabbing him once through the chest before turning the knife to his own neck. Authorities located the second twin, nicknamed Jamie (16), hiding beneath a bed.  
Aimee was found already deceased by the time an ambulance arrived, but Jim was transported to London Bridge Hospital, where he died late last night. Jamie has disappeared and police are searching for him.  
Anyone with information is encouraged to step forward and assist police…”

The words blurred in front of Sherlock’s eyes and he carefully set the paper down, starting to weep. Two years. He’d been two years late to save him. If he’d left when he’d wanted to, he could’ve run away with him. They could have been happy.

He’d just gotten lost.

\---

That was the first time Sherlock tried drugs. He got himself lost in one of the worst parts of London and thrust a wad of cash into the hand of the first drug dealer he deduced, demanding anything the man would give him.

For the second time in one day, the world faded away from Sherlock and he let it go, not wanting to think ever again.

After the first hit came another and before Sherlock knew it, he’d successfully blotted out countless hours.

Perfect. He just needed to work enough to pay for more of this and he’d be fine.


	10. Fia Fireann: 2

The lights were out in the flat but Sherlock's pupils were blown wide and he could just make out what he needed to from his seat in the modern-looking armchair.

The door remained closed.

Next to Sherlock, a digital clock silently flicked through numbers as midnight crept closer.

He remained alert by working to deduce the owner of the flat from his belongings, though the area was sparse and hardly lived in. His books were neatly placed in rows, which could either be from disuse upon initial decoration or an overwhelming obsession with cleanliness, the latter more likely. He wasn't the sort to visit often, but still a cleaning crew came twice a week with the amount of vacuuming the floors clearly got and the deep washed look of the rug and carpet. Definitely obsessed with order. Possibly a germaphobe, and paranoia wasn't out of the question with his constant moving from flat to flat. Though with his work, staying in one place was a serious risk.

The door to the lobby downstairs opened and Sherlock tensed, preparing himself for the confrontation. His target would be armed if he knew anything about him, and as he listened as a pair of voices became clear as they came up the stairs. Two men. Sherlock's hand squeezed tighter around the grip of his gun, fear spiking his heart rate. If the second came in, he probably wouldn't stand a chance against two armed criminals. From what he'd learned, this man lived alone, but there was no telling with him. Sherlock wished distantly that he'd waited for John to return from his sister’s before jumping into this but it was too late to back out now. Who knew when he'd get another chance to end this?

A light tread on the carpet outside - his mark, but shockingly light - followed by a familiar sort of marching walk, similar to John's, though far heavier from muscles and height. Possibly a guard then, ex-military. Hopefully he'd stay out, the thought of fighting a soldier that worked for this man was terrifying.

Through the door the voice of the first man was muffled but now distinguishable to Sherlock, speaking sharply to his companion as a key slid into the lock and turned.

"Sebastian, you're not my mother, alright? I don't need to be fucking babysat. I'm an adult. In fact, I think the only reason you invited yourself up here is to try to get into my pants. But unfortunately, I like intelligent people, and you frankly don't qualify since you have the IQ of a potato."

"Boss..." The second voice was deeper and commanded more respect, but his quietly exasperated tone indicated he put up with this a lot. He wasn't in charge, no matter how right he seemed for the role. "I just think you're in danger, maybe I should come in and have a look around, to be sure you're safe. I'll leave right after, I swear."

The door swung open and light from the hall spilled into the flat, not quite reaching Sherlock and the dark still thankfully shrouded him from sight. A silhouette stepped into view, shorter than his companion with how he looked up at him, voice sharp.

"No, I'm always in danger, that's just how it is. Get lost, Moran, I need to go to sleep." The man stepped into the flat and the door slammed behind him, darkness once again filling in the room. Sherlock was alone with him. The person he had been tracking for ages.

He got the gun up and held steady at the head of the shadow, a finger inching toward the safety, when the gently lilting Irish voice spoke again, addressing him, "Good thing we got rid of him, right Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock faltered as the shadow turned and something that glinted with dim light through the window was aimed at him, "I don't want to kill you. Not yet. But I do want you to set that gun down so we can talk."

Sherlock kept his eyes and gun trained on the shadow as he reached over to flick on the lamp, wanting to be sure they both put down their guns so he wouldn't be left unprotected.

Moriarty was finally illuminated and as Sherlock looked the mastermind over, trying to match what stood before him to what he'd imagined, his heat pounded to a halt.

Jim.

It was Jim, not dead, but grown up, with a face unrounded by baby fat and with a stark jawline dotted with stubble. His hair, rather than being allowed to go wherever it wanted, was smoothed back carefully with gel. He'd gotten taller, though he still wasn't the tallest person in the world, and his thin build had filled out with a bit of lean muscle. The same old eyes watched Sherlock closely, black in the minimal light.

Clearly Jim. Clearly not dead.

"Jimmy..." Sherlock sounded horribly ragged to his own ears and he became aware he was close to fainting, his gun trembling in his hands. He wanted to run to him and hug him, but his boy and this man were worlds apart. He'd never seen his boy look so dangerous.

Jim's eyes narrowed and his grip on the gun tightened, "I said I wanted to talk Holmes, not have you give me nicknames."

Sherlock flashed back to their first meeting where a bright eyed Jim had set down his rock slowly to keep from spooking him. He'd been so careful back then, at least three decades ago. So much had changed... Sherlock echoed the move, carefully setting his gun on the floor, all the while holding his free hand up in surrender. Jim seemed a little surprised by it but his gun didn't waver.

Sherlock's mind raced. How had Jim fallen so far? How could he not seem to know Sherlock? And he'd become... Moriarty... Why on earth would such a sweet boy build a criminal empire?

"Jim, please. Don't you remember me?" Sherlock asked, voice steadier as he sat up in the armchair, eyes fixing on Jim's.

"How would I know you if we've never met before?" Jim said coldly, head tilting like a snake. He was handsome, Sherlock realized, under the cruelty. Of course he was.

"Can I take off my hat?" Sherlock asked softly, one hand gesturing to the deerstalker.

Jim licked his lips, smoothing out his suit unconsciously, all the while keeping his gun up, finger itching to curl on the trigger, "Why would you?"

"I need to show you something. Don't shoot." Sherlock's voice was calming and he grasped the front flap of his hat, quickly whipping it away and letting it fall next to him. Jim tensed but thankfully didn't fire, eyes flicking over Sherlock's curls.

"What are you showing me?"

The question hung in the air and Sherlock let it sit, wondering how to explain before deciding to just show him, leaning his head forward for Jim to see as his curls fell away from what was left of his antlers.

"Sherlock Holmes. I knew you when you lived with your parents and your brother in the countryside. You couldn't have been more than seven. You told me to come find you when you left and I did, I did Jim, I came back to you." He found himself getting choked up and he swallowed hard, trying to keep calm.

"You hunted me down." Jim glared, not meeting Sherlock's eyes when he looked up, "And you're not... you aren't real."

"I'm not?" Sherlock asked in quiet amusement, pushing himself up to stand, "I'll admit, I gave up on finding you when I read that you... died in the paper and turned my attention to crime instead, so I didn't really mean to find you here. I didn't know you were doing this."

Jim faltered, "No. This is just another hallucination. You can't be real. You just look like him or something, but it's not real."

"Do I need to prove it?" Sherlock asked, managing a kind smile, "If anything happens that you don't like, you can still shoot me. I just want to prove it. Please Jim."

Jim's curt nod was enough for Sherlock and he carefully kicked off his shoes to show his hooves before moving to undo his trousers. He was aware this could end very badly, he could be revealed to the world as what he was after so long in hiding to be prodded by scientists, but it felt worth the risk, for Jim.

Sherlock let his trousers and pants drop, then stepped out of them, feeling a faint sense of embarrassment at showing himself to someone else after covering up for so long.

Slowly, he met Jim's eyes, cheeks going pink, "Jim, it's me."

The man's eyes had gone wide with shock, arms slowly drifting to his sides as he took Sherlock in.

"You grew up." Jim said roughly when he finally found his voice, managing to meet Sherlock's gaze with misty eyes, "You came to find me."

"I saw your name in the paper." Sherlock whispered, stepping a little closer, "That you were dead. Your father... I thought there was no hope. I just gave up."

Jim's eyes flashed in pain at the reminder and he very carefully set his gun down before loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt to reveal a deep ugly scar over his breastbone, "Almost."

Sherlock crossed the room slowly to show Jim he wasn't a threat but the man no longer seemed worried, keeping Sherlock's gaze as he came close and reached a hand out to smooth over the skin around the scar. Sherlock frowned when he noticed his touch was met with little raised bumps and when he examined Jim's chest closer, he found it was crisscrossed with tiny little scars beneath the thick one.

"Oh Jimmy... I'm so sorry."

"My father. He tried to..." Jim frowned deeply, looking away, "To kill me. After my mother."

"And Jamie?" Sherlock whispered, scared to hear the answer in case it turned out badly, "It said he ran away."

"Alive." Jim smiled up at Sherlock, "He works at a pet shop."

Sherlock broke into an answering smile, hand distractedly running over Jim's chest, "Still likes rabbits then?"

"He loves them." Jim laughed breathlessly, leaning closer to Sherlock and sighing in relief when the taller man folded him into his arms.

"I'm sorry about your mother."

"Don't be, I took care of it." Jim said, relaxing into Sherlock's chest for what felt like his first hug in years.

"Jim, why do you do this work?" Sherlock's breath was warm in Jim's hair, soothing, and he ran his hands down his back again and again, assuring himself that his boy really was alive, "It's not safe, I nearly shot you."

"I can't survive without intellectual stimulation. Nothing else comes close to the high that what I do brings. And it's fairly safe, no one ever gets to me." Jim leaned back slightly to look up at Sherlock with trusting eyes, "No one but you."

"I missed you." Sherlock said quietly, amazed by how inadequately it described how deeply he felt.

"I know. I missed you too." Jim slid his hands up to hold Sherlock's face, keeping him still so his dark eyes could drink him in greedily.

"I probably should have known it was you I was tailing. No one else could be that smart." Sherlock chuckled and his voice was even deeper and lovelier than Jim remembered.

"I normally would do a bit of research, but Holmes was too good to unwrap all at once. I wanted to discover him." Jim's eyes flicked to what was left of Sherlock's antlers and he rephrased, "To discover you."

"You told me only an idiot guesses or reasons or deduces. Are you admitting I was right?" Sherlock teased gently.

"No, it's still incredibly dangerous and it's still for idiots, but I'm an idiot when it comes to you." Jim grinned back, eyes pained.

"A sucker for intelligence?" Sherlock smirked, tilting his head, "My intelligence?"

"Just as humble as I remember." Jim rolled his eyes, "Yes."

"Do you get off on it Mr. Moriarty?" Sherlock winked.

Jim hesitated, looking up at Sherlock honestly, "Yes..." In a moment he surged up onto his toes to crash their mouths together, eyes falling closed as he worked Sherlock's lips open and began to tease his way inside. Sherlock stood stunned for a moment, blinking in shock, before hesitantly starting to kiss back, hands moving from Jim's slender waist to his backside, applying what he'd seen in movies to what they were doing to make up for his inexperience.

Jim snogged him until his overactive mind went fuzzy and he had to grip onto him tight to keep from falling. Jim leaned back for Sherlock to catch his breath and giggled, looking over his shoulder at Sherlock's hands holding onto his arse for dear life, "You're cute."

"I'm not cute." Sherlock snapped, pressing his face into Jim's neck as his cheeks heated.

"Yes you are, what you're doing right now is very cute. You're cute." Jim insisted, screaming in laughter when Sherlock scooped him up and held him close.

"Where is your bedroom?" Sherlock said in what he hoped was a good sexy voice, eager to try things his mind had been urging him to do for the past several month with rut upon him.

"Unless you're planning on tucking me into bed, I won't tell. I'm exhausted." Jim grinned, "Let's save that for later, yeah? I'm not that easy. You haven't even bought me dinner yet."

"We need to go through an entire tedious courting ritual for me to have intercourse with you?" Sherlock scoffed, "Why? We know each other."

"We knew each other." Jim corrected, "There's a difference. And you’re… hard to get my head around.”

“You’re very smart, I’m sure you can figure it out.” Sherlock muttered sarcastically, butting his head against Jim’s, “Please, I find you very intellectually stimulating and aesthetically pleasing. I missed you, I want to show you how much I missed you. This is a good place to start.”

“I’m sure there was more to you missing me than just sex, darling.” Jim nodded toward his bedroom door, “I’m going to sleep with you tonight, but not like that. If you’re still real when I wake up, I want to hear more about what happened.”

Sherlock pouted but obeyed anyway, heaving Jim over his shoulder and carrying the struggling man into the bedroom where they collapsed on the bed and Jim took a moment to plug in his phone.

“You have an Android device.” Sherlock observed with a disgusted look.

“Customization. Plus I like illegally downloading music and it seems like such a hassle to deal with cracked screens all the time and the small displays that iPhones have.” Jim said smugly, smacking Sherlock’s shoulder, “Don’t start.”

“Fine.” Sherlock collapsed onto the bed, sniffing at Jim’s ear and taking in the new way he smelled, dark and warm and woody, like the forest. He was so wonderful to have close again, just being near him had Sherlock wanting to get straight back to kissing and all the brand new things that his mind was encouraging him to try. Sherlock had repressed parts of himself for so long and now it was taking everything he had to keep from rushing into them with Jim.

“You still do that huh? Okay, a little weird.” Jim chuckled, turning his head to smile at Sherlock, “I’m glad you found me, if this is real.”

“If it’s not, would you be unhappy?” Sherlock joked but Jim remained serious.

“Yes. I’d be very unhappy.”

“Why then?” Sherlock placed a hand on Jim’s chest to feel his heartbeat, relaxing to feel it reassuring him he was alive.

“Because then I’d wake up or come to and find I made it all up.” Jim whispered, leaning in to kiss Sherlock again, “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t lose me.” Sherlock promised, arms wrapping around Jim and pulling him close to hold him until they fell asleep.


	11. Fia Fireann: 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, this chapter has sex. You've been warned.

Late the next morning Sherlock shifted awake and began to purr into his pillow, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings as he basked in the warmth of the bed and the smell that was distinctly Jim. Adult Jim. Moriarty. How perfect was that, he'd thought no one else would be able to challenge him intellectually but here was his boy, proving him wrong. His boy that arranged crimes for a living. His boy with the scars. His boy that had presumably killed his father and countless other people. The new thoughts set Sherlock's heart pounding and he opened his eyes quickly, stiffening when he found the bed empty.

How had he so willingly accompanied this man to bed? How had he been so eager to sleep with him? He'd let his guard down around someone who'd had a gun on him, he'd exposed himself. The reminder brought a flush to Sherlock's cheeks and he sat up clumsily, looking around the room. No sign of Jim. Moriarty. Whatever he was, he was dangerous. Sherlock stood, forcing himself to stay vigilant as he headed out the door and back into the living room, ears straining.

Sherlock had been fully expecting Moriarty. Dressed in his suit, hair slicked back, eyes dark like his father's used to be. What he was confronted with was...

Jim. Fresh out of the shower with drowsy, slow blinking eyes and lines from the pillowcase pressed into his cheek. He was dressed in remarkably casual clothes, a pair of faded jeans and a green shirt with the words "Kiss me, I'm Irish!" written across the chest. He sat on the couch, though it could hardly be called sitting with how slouched he was, and he had a cup of coffee by the smell tucked against his chest, saturated with an ungodly amount of sugar and milk.

When he heard Sherlock, Jim looked up and burst into a bright smile like the sun breaking through the clouds on an overcast day, a smile that made Sherlock's fear fade away, "Ah, my knight in shining armor awakens."

"Are you the princess?" Sherlock teased, voice a little gravely with sleep.

"I'm whatever you want me to be, sweet." Jim winked, waving Sherlock over.

"I realize I'm a little late in my rescue." Sherlock said softly as he sat down beside Jim, deciding not to bother struggling to get his trousers on in front of him. He wasn't quite sure which would help him salvage his dignity, but he couldn't bring himself to care when Jim laid his head on his shoulder, nuzzling his neck.

"I may find it in my heart to forgive you. I've not beheaded you yet, so that's a good sign." Jim's voice was light and teasing and Sherlock failed to keep back a genuine smile, part of him hating that Jim could just come back into his life and break apart the firm hold he'd gotten on his emotions. He debated wrapping an arm around Jim but he wasn't sure how that would be taken, especially after Jim had rejected his advance the night before.

"Might you still behead me, if things don't work out?" Sherlock asked, heart stuttering when Jim's amorous gaze sobered a little and he tilted his head like he had the night before, predatory. The casual banter turned into something a little more sinister.

"If things don't work out how? As in you betray me, or as in we're incompatible so we go our separate ways?"

"Either. Both." Sherlock shrugged, turning to meet Jim's eyes.

"If you betray me..." Jim furrowed his brow as he tested his own answer before returning to Sherlock's eyes, "I'd be upset. At myself for trusting you, at the situation. I would be forced to leave London, but that's not a problem with a network like mine. But you know aaall about that, don't you? You're an expert. In fact, I bet you've already got enough information to capsize much of my little operation, then it would only be a matter of going around and tying up all the rest of the loose ends. You might even get me arrested, though you wouldn't manage to put me away for good. But I don't think you'll do that, sweet. You like me too much for that. You missed me, as you said. I'm not worried. But if you did, I wouldn't kill you. I'd just leave. Because I missed you too. I still care."

Jim heaved a sigh, looking away, "As for incompatibility, I suppose that can't be helped. But with that one too, I'm going to take a risk and say it won't happen either, because even after all this time apart, we still found each other. We're still the same, we're still the only challenges for one another. I don't really believe in fate, but I believe in connections. I feel a connection with you, Sherlock. You feel it too."

"Why didn't I feel you get out of bed this morning?" Sherlock asked emotionlessly, hating how moved he felt by Jim's proclamation, "I'm a light sleeper, I would have felt it."

"No clue, you seemed pretty out of it though." Jim shrugged, giving Sherlock a wry smile, "Maybe you just sleep better with someone to cuddle? I know you were being very affectionate, it was flattering."

Sherlock's face reddened and he narrowed his eyes, "Maybe I was given something."

Jim took a few more sips of his coffee, finishing it off before setting the mug on the coffee table and moving to crawl up onto Sherlock's lap, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he watched him, "You think I drugged you. You think I'm a "bad guy". I've got no limits in your mind, because of my job and the role I play in an outsider's perspective of our story. Might I be an arsonist as well, or a rapist? Who knows, but your grasp of what I do and what I am as a result is flimsy. I'm not a criminal, Sherlock. Not in the sense that I enjoy crime. I enjoy solving problems. If the problems I solve ultimately benefit me and sometimes my clients, so be it. If my solutions are illegal, as long as we can get away with it, that's how it goes. Everyone needs to make a living. I'm not a conventional man, but I'm not going to be reduced to a common "bad guy" just for convenience. No, I didn't drug you, and you can do as many blood tests on yourself or drug raids on this place as you'd like, but you won't find anything. You slept because you were tired, but I have too much respect for you to violate you in that way."

Sherlock stared up at Jim in amazement as he spoke, stunned by his words but gradually realizing he was incredibly aroused by his intelligence, "You're... like me. I could have ended up in your place easily, but it was just chance." He settled his hands on Jim's hips, pulling their bodies flush as best he could with the awkward angle before grinding up against him, "Come on, Jim. Please let me do this."

The shorter man stiffened, blinking at Sherlock in surprise, "Hon, you can’t have done this before. It’s your first time, don’t you want to go slow?”

“Jim, slow is for boring ordinary people who don’t have what we do.” Sherlock scoffed, “I’m in rut, I really want to do this, and I can’t imagine another person who I’d rather do it with than you.”

Jim’s eyes widened comically when he looked down between them at Sherlock’s sheath retracting back as his cock hardened rapidly and jutted straight up, his member human in shape, even if it was protected differently, “Well… you’re a bit bigger than I remember.”

Sherlock burst out laughing, cheeks getting a little red as he looked down, “Yes, I imagine you are as well.”

“I’m just not used to the whole deer thing, not in a sexual sense.” Jim shrugged, wrapping a hand around Sherlock and giving him a gentle stroke that made him hiss in pleasure.

“Well now you can’t stop.” Sherlock growled, grabbing Jim hard and slamming him lengthwise onto the sofa before getting on top of him, “How do we do this?”

“Christ…” Jim gasped in surprise, body responding quickly to the dominance, “You need to grab lube. I’ve got some in my bedroom, nightstand drawer.”

“I’ll be right back.” Sherlock promised, standing and hurrying off, bumping into a few things on the way. When he managed to find it, having to take a moment to figure out which container was right since Jim seemed to own a ridiculous amount of flowery lotion and exfoliating cream, he returned to find the man already naked and spread out on the couch, leisurely stroking his cock like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m fine with putting on a show, but I figured you’d want to hurry up with this.” Jim purred, body stretching out like a rubber band.

Sherlock practically pounced on him, tail wiggling back and forth as he kissed Jim sloppily and lifted his hips up to grope at his backside again, groaning at the feel. Jim’s hands moved to slide over Sherlock’s body, teasing his nipples until they were pink and sensitive, dipping into the hollow of his clavicles and curling around the line of his jaw while his teeth nipped at Sherlock’s soft lips, swelling them with bites. Sherlock eventually had to tear himself away from Jim’s expert ministrations, hating how insistent his mind was being about breeding when what he really wanted to do in that moment was let Jim take him apart piece by piece like he probably could.

“Hold on, I need…” Sherlock batted Jim’s hand away when it roamed close, taking a few quick breaths to focus, “You on your front. You need to be on your front, that’s what feels right.”

Jim obeyed in an instant, eyes glazing over with pleasure at being ordered around, rucking a pillow beneath his hips to help present his vulnerable hole to Sherlock as his legs spread. He blushed in embarrassment when the move gained a low whistle.

“I’d been thinking that since you gained a bit more hair, things wouldn’t be as tidy here as they are.” Sherlock sounded amused.

“I wax.” Jim muttered, wiggling his hips enticingly, “You’re ruining the mood, get on with it.”

“What, I’m not allowed to make comments?” Sherlock huffed indignantly, warm air playing across Jim’s tailbone like the faun was leaning in close and Jim gasped as his member hardened painfully against the pillow at the mental image. He gave an involuntary thrust into it and bit his lip to keep back a moan, “Hurry up, you’re wasting time. Just pour some lube onto your fingers and start to work me open.”

“Work you open?” Sherlock sat up again and liberally applied some to his fingers, nose wrinkling at the texture. His urges definitely didn’t center on this. Best to get it over with. Sherlock gripped a side of Jim’s offered hips with one hand and spread the gel into his heated skin, feeling a surge of arousal at the faint suction Jim’s body provided as he ran his fingers against him. It couldn’t hurt to explore that further… Sherlock pressed two fingers past the tight muscles on a whim, jumping as Jim cried out.

“What have I done?” Sherlock asked fearfully, checking that his hand wasn’t squeezing Jim’s pelvis enough to bruise.

Jim took several moments to compose himself, voice strained, “One finger at a time. Please.”

Sherlock fixed his technique, waiting each time until Jim gave him the all clear before working him open with another finger. His hand moved from Jim’s hip to pet his back as an apology, wishing he was more knowledgeable for the man than he was. Hurting his boy was wrong.

With some patience, they worked their way up to three digits, Sherlock grimacing most of the time even as Jim began to let out little sighs of pleasure and lifting for more. At long last, Jim told Sherlock he was ready and the faun carefully slid his fingers back out, making sure Jim had enough lube before spreading some on himself, trembling with lust.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around Jim’s slight torso, hindbrain encouraging him into the proper position as he twisted his hips just right and his tip nudged at Jim’s entrance, every nerve in his body alive and urges screaming at him to thrust.

Before he even registered, instincts took over and his hips slammed up into Jim, cock flooding his passage with Sherlock’s release in just a split second. Sherlock moaned as hormones washed through him and a few belated thrusts followed. When Sherlock became too lost in it to move, he collapsed on top of Jim, pulling out and nuzzling affectionately at the nape of his neck, unaware that the man was still hard and not satisfied by a long shot.

When Sherlock came back to his body, he let his natural instincts rule him, rolling Jim over so they were chest to chest and lovingly licking at his stunned face, sounds almost like purring rising deep in his chest. His mind congratulated him on successfully passing on his genetic code and he transferred the good feelings to cuddling Jim, body rubbing close as he scented him to let everyone else know who he belonged to.

It took him a few moments to pick up on the fact Jim was speaking and he had to struggle out of his haze to hear it, continuing to cuddle close.

“Sherlock, I haven’t finished yet. I’m not close to finishing yet. Maybe we can get that taken care of before you start celebrating?” Jim suggested weakly, forcing himself to keep his hands away from his cock despite how badly he wanted to, all the rubbing and licking turning him on like hell.

Sherlock sat back in confusion and looked down, blinking at Jim’s length. His instincts provided no solutions for dealing with this problem.

“I don’t know what to do with it.” Sherlock admitted, face getting red.

Jim let out a faint groan and shook his head, “Get back up here and keep rubbing against me, I’ll take care of it.”

Sherlock probably would have answered with words but his biology was having none of it, slamming him back down on top of Jim for more possessive but loving grinding and he could feel Jim’s hand between them, stroking himself vigorously to his cuddling.

It took Jim much longer than Sherlock had imagined it would to finally shudder his release, letting out a soft whine as he did so and bucking up against Sherlock’s hips eagerly. From Sherlock’s point of view, it seemed counterproductive to the purpose of sex, but he reasoned that humans were probably more interested in pleasure.

“I didn’t do a good job of satisfying you.” Sherlock said when Jim regained coherency. He felt good, like he had achieved what he’d needed to do physically, but emotionally, it was rude to leave Jim in the state he’d been.

“You didn’t last long.” Jim answered, blinking up at Sherlock, “I’d expected a bit more.”

“How much longer would have been satisfactory?” Sherlock lapped at Jim’s cheek and grinned when the man giggled childishly.

“Ten minutes, usually more.”

“Then I’ll work on it. I’m sure my brother will know how to increase the length of time I can maintain my erection without achieving orgasm if this is something you see as favorable in a mate.” Sherlock said firmly, narrowing his eyes in confusion when Jim only laughed.

“Whatever you can manage. I’m not going anywhere.” Jim rolled to face away from Sherlock, curling up and pulling the faun in to spoon when he seemed baffled by the action. Sherlock slowly relaxed into the position and returned to kissing and lapping at the sweat on Jim’s neck, chest humming with low purring.

He could get used to this new life with his boy. Maybe even try to introduce him to a less dangerous career, though Sherlock suspected Jim probably wouldn't be interested. But that didn't matter, because Sherlock was certain that he was where he belonged again.

An Deireadh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was a subtle deer joke, because that's about how long deer take.
> 
> I also drew this for the story: http://jimzuccofromit.tumblr.com/post/88630729959/my-attempts-at-fawnlock-for-my-story-oisin-which


End file.
